Understand
by Aergonaut
Summary: Sometimes it's better if you don't understand.


**Title:** Understand  
**Fandom:** iCarly  
**Pairing:** Freddie/Sam  
**Words:** 952  
**Rating:** PG. Implied abuse? I guess?

**Summary:** Sometimes it's better if you don't understand. Sometimes you don't need to understand to provide a caring heart.

**Author's Note:** Recently gave this show a chance and really loved it. I dug around in the fics here and have really taken a liking to the Freddie/Sam pairing. First fic in the fandom, so I'm still testing the waters. This is a oneshot. Hope you like it, R&R, and all that.

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"Understand"

Wednesday afternoon, 4:05 PM. The A/V Club's weekly meeting had just ended and Freddie Benson was walking across the playground to make one last stop at his locker before heading home. He grabbed his History and Science books and, stuffing them into his backpack, walked through Ridgeway Junior High's south exit, out towards his bus stop to wait for the 4:30 to get in.

The stop was vacant when he got there, as usual. Pretty much no one ever took the 4. Although the 4 had for the most part the same route as the 12, it took about twice as long to run it, snaking around through a few residential districts before finally getting back to downtown. Freddie liked taking the 4, though. The extra time to himself away from his mother was a good enough reason, but being as Carly also went to study school Wednesday afternoons, there really was nothing of particular interest to him at home.

Freddie set his backpack on the bench and sat down next to it. He hadn't been sitting there for more than a handful of minutes when he heard a familiar, but unexpected, voice come from behind.

"Hey, hey, Fredward. Knew I'd find you here."

"Sam?" Freddie said, incredulous. He twisted around in his seat to get a look at the speaker, and indeed, it was. "Why are you here? School ended, like, an hour ago."

"Well, Carly's at cram school today," she began, "and my mom's all riled up again so I'm not exactly jazzed about sticking around my house."

Freddie didn't say anything as she walked around the bench to stand in front of it, only scrunching up his face into a somewhat skeptical look. Sam stood with her weight casually to one side, swinging her arms slowly back and forth, her face quizzical as she read Freddie's expression.

"So are you going to ask me to sit down or what?" Sam said.

Freddie's expression shifted briefly to baffled before clearing up. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he shrugged, gesturing to the open space to his right. "Suit yourself."

Sam sat herself down next to him on the bench, leaving only three or four inches between their shoulders. Freddie wanted to scoot over to his left, but realized he'd put his backpack right next to him so he could put his arm around it and keep it safe. Not wanting to make a scene of being uncomfortable at the intrusion on his personal space, he shifted a few times in his seat before finally settling down and putting his hands in his lap.

They sat like that for a while, Freddie looking down the street for the bus, Sam looking the other direction at the sun starting to sink behind the skyline. She seemed perfectly content to stare up the road forever, but Freddie was starting to get a little anxious.

"So, why are you here?" he said, turning to look at her. "You haven't insulted me at all for the past," he checked his watch, "five minutes. And I'm not even charging. That has to be a record or something."

"I told you," she said, still looking away, "I just can't be around my house for now."

"What, your mom trying out a new perfume again or something?" he continued, laughing the last words.

Sam broke her gaze and faced him. Looking at her face now, up close, Freddie could see that something about Sam wasn't quite right. This wasn't the Sam that liked to squirt condiments in his face for no apparent reason. She sure looked like that Sam, but this girl was definitely someone totally different.

She paused for a moment as she looked him in the eye, searching his face, trying to read what he was thinking. But after a moment, she simply turned her head to look out across the street and answered, "Yeah. Smells like cow piss."

"Oh," Freddie said, a little puzzled. He turned to look too across the street.

Suddenly, Freddie felt a weight drop on his shoulder. Sam was leaning her head against him now, turning her face into his chest. She tried to hide that she was crying, hide the tears behind her eyes. But it wasn't working.

"Sam?" Freddie said, a little surprised at the unexpected contact.

He'd never understand. He probably couldn't understand. And maybe that's how she wanted it. All the counselors, the doctors, the psychiatrists only treated her like a ball of yarn to be unraveled, her life a puzzle to be solved. But Freddie never pried. Freddie never asked questions. Freddie never made her tell him anything more than she wanted to. Freddie could always take a hint, whether he knew he was taking one or not.

Her cheek was wet now and she could feel his shirt becoming wet too under her skin. But Sam didn't give up trying to hide her crying. Freddie could tell she was doing her best to choke back the tears, to muffle the little sobbing noises crawling their way out her throat, even though it obviously wasn't working.

"You're such a doof," she said, failing miserably at keeping her voice steady. If she could at least manage to keep from crying out loud into Fredward Benson's shoulder, she might be able to salvage some small sliver of her dignity.

But one sob led to another, and soon enough even that last sliver was gone.

Freddie took a deep breath in and out, and began to carefully shimmy his right arm out from between the two of them. When he had it free, he put it carefully around her back, gingerly placing his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed lightly and felt the tension in her shoulders loosen an almost imperceptible amount.

"Yeah," he said, almost a whisper. "Right."


End file.
